Red Dirt Girl
by Hearts A Mess
Summary: Years after her association with the X-Men, Rogue returns to a path that she diverted from, and the sensation that she knows this ‘Wolverine.’ AU.
1. Long Way From Meridian

**A/N: I grew up in Alaska, and have personally driven this route through the state. I highly recommend it to the more adventurous types. As for the story, don't worry- your not missing anything; it will all be explained in due course. I took my characterizations from the film versions of Rogue and Wolverine.**

**References and lyrics of _Red Dirt Girl_ belong to Emmylou Harris.**

**Tok. (pronounced _toke_)**

* * *

The main highways of Canada have a sparse connection to Alaska, meeting up in the middle of the state and cutting straight through to Fairbanks. Your alternative route is down on the panhandle through Sitka, and a ferry over to the capital. Either way, a destination had to be in mind, because it was a long way around no matter which corner of the state you were aiming for.

_But Fairbanks is on the way to Anchorage,_ Rogue thought as she rolled up the battered Milepost and turned to survey the town she was just dropped in.

Tok was the middle mark between the Canadian border that she had just come from and Fairbanks. The squiggled roads of the map were deceiving in their length, and it was with the same resigned sigh that she realized she needed to find another ride.

She had hitched through the last part of British Columbia in the back of a couple's eurovan. Rogue had counted herself lucky as she was able to watch the beautiful scenery of Canada pass by, but the couple; Pat and Jean, were retired and like most on the road, longed for the end of it. Rogue felt no such pull, and realizing that after passing the state border, she needed to slow down.

So that was why she was on the side of the road, in Tok. She looked down the highway, with the city hugging the curbs, not more than a handful of stores and dirt roads that lead off into the wilderness. To her left was the odd sight of an old Tesoro gas station; a little kid manning the register while watching cartoons on a TV that sat on atop sparse shelves. A goat was tied up to the diesel pump.

She supposed she could have waited until Fairbanks. More people would be there at least. But something told her this was it; the city that would decide her entire stay in Alaska.

Rogue dug her fist into the pocket of the long green coat that she wore, pulling out her last twenty. She sighed. First stop, lunch. Second, ask the kid at the Tesoro if there were any jobs around.

* * *

It seemed like every seedy bar/restaurant that she walked into made her crave a beer. Rogue was more than old enough, but she couldn't recall when this desire cropped up in her conscious. Not that she could afford it either.

A snappling-crack brought her back to the present. A middle-aged waitress was peering down at her, her mint blue gum making sporadic appearances in her mouth. Rogue figured she was the cook as well for such a small place.

"Whaddayalhave?"

"The, uh…over-easy eggs with toast."

"White, wheat, sourdough, muffin."

"Erm… sourdough." _Might as well try it_, she thought.

"Any coffee? You look dead on your feet, darlin'."

"No thanks." _For the compliment_, she added mentally when she smiled up at the waitress.

The woman gave a grin that turned to be something closer to a grimace, and walked back towards the kitchen. The unmistakable smell of a fryer with week old oil drifted out minutes later.

Rogue could smell the coffee behind the counter already burning to the bottom of the pot. It made her almost loose her appetite. But the sign behind the window said _help wanted_, and she didn't think her other prospects in town were much better.

But after the meal when she inquired, the waitress looked her up and down skeptically. "You ever worked in a bar? Gotta serving card?"

Rogue was confused. "I've worked in a restaurant, served food. I'm older than 21."

But the waitress waived it off as she handed Rogue her change, "Nah sweetheart. Need that servin' card. Can't hire ya without it. Ya gotta do all of it or none of it."

Rogue assumed she was talking about the work, and only nodded meekly. From behind the waitress, she could see a man perched at the bar, turning back to his beer.

She sighed. Rejected with bad eggs, sour bread, and no beer. At least she didn't have the coffee. Rogue slid out of the vinyl booth and headed outside, back to the Tesoro station and hopefully, the less judgmental kid that seemed to be running the place.

* * *

"The summer hasn't started yet. Why would you want to work in _Tok_ anyway?" The kid was swinging his legs on the stool, looking at Rogue like she had grown a third arm. She hated that look.

"I don't _want_ to work here, I _need_ to work here," she stressed, crossing her arms.

He was unimpressed by her sarcasm as he turned back to the TV. "Might as well go to Fairbanks. That's where everyone gets a job these days. My mom hadta get a job out there. I dunno why were still _here_."

Behind her, the door opened and Rogue absently looked over her shoulder to see the man from the bar step in. The kid's voice changed into absolute business. "Pump number 2, twenty-three seventy."

Rogue looked back to the battered truck that was parked next to the pump, then to the man dressed in an old leather jacket and jeans. His face seemed permanently grim.

She spoke before she lost the nerve, "Excuse me, are you passing through Fairbanks?"

He pulled out a wad of cash from inside his jacket, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah, why?"

The kid at the cashier rolled his eyes as Rogue's sudden apprehension and cracked a smile; "This girl thought she could get a job in _Tok._"

The cash passed hands as he turned to her, leaning against the countertop. His expression was amused, borderline sarcastic, his voice ground out in a rumble. "I know; I was there."

That did it. The last thing she needed was people flaunting their power over her situation. Rogue let her eyes narrow and she matched her tone to his. "I'm just looking for a ride. If you don't want to help me out, that's fine. But don't be an ass about it."

She batted the door out of her way and stalked back out to the road, only mildly satisfied that she got a raised eyebrow from him. The afternoon was bringing in a trickle of cars from the highway, but Rogue didn't get her hopes up.

After a few miserable minutes of staring at the highway, a second sense in her made her look back. Sure enough; there was the grizzly man, standing next to the pickup and sticking a cigar in the corner of his mouth as he met her gaze. Rogue looked him over again as the two stared at each other; a weird sort of standoff.

It was her guess that he wasn't that much older than her. Thirties, yes. Forties, no. But his eyes seemed hard and had seen many unpleasant things. She wondered if he was an Alaskan, or one of the north-slope workers that she had heard about. He was certainly built for it- had the facial hair for it. The rest of his hair seemed to stand on end, even if it was long and unkempt.

Normally she didn't like people looking at her, especially when it came to men. She had always felt the inexplicable urge to blend into the background, and valued anonymity. But Rogue noticed that when he looked at her, he wasn't studying her. He seemed to be thinking things over as he took the stogie from his mouth, his lips curled down into a frown that was quickly becoming his trademark in her eyes.

"The ride's yours. Unless you're too proud to take it."

Her eyes broke the glare and she turned, walking up to the passenger side and throwing her duffle into the bed of the truck. "Thank you."

"No problem, kid."

God help her; she smiled.


	2. Telegram Comes

She had settled into the truck, which was cleaner on the inside than it was outside. The engine growled to life and despite the age, she could tell it was well maintained. For the first hour of the ride, they didn't speak. Rogue was content to take in the scenery and to try and note its subtle differences from Canada. She felt oddly comfortable with the hulk of a man in the driver's seat, even if he was shooting her glances every now and then.

"Name's Logan," he said unexpectedly after the first 20 miles.

She only nodded in acknowledgment, "Rogue."

His lips quirked in a small smile and she almost did a double take. "What?"

"Nothing."

_Damn, it's gone._ Just when she noticed a smile did wonders on his appearance.

Another 5 miles passed.

"Why Fairbanks?"

"I thought you were gonna ask, 'Why Tok?'"

They overtook another camper. "Well I didn't. Why Fairbanks?"

Rogue restated her thoughts from the morning, "Because it's on the way to Anchorage."

Logan made a grunt and she couldn't tell if he approved, in fact he looked uncomfortable. "You got any family there?"

She considered it for a moment, but nothing came to mind. "No, I'm starting anew."

He popped the cigar back in his mouth and Rogue relished the unhurried conversation. The last ride she had, the old couple at first were so nervous when they picked her up that they wouldn't shut up. They had never picked up hitchhikers. In the end, she feigned sleep to escape their stories of their family up north.

"Anchorage is the first place in my mind when I want to travel."

"Runnin' away is more what it looks like."

She'd heard this hypothesis before. "I didn't have anything to run away from, so it's not really running away, is it?"

"Where did you come from?"

Rogue frowned, "From the South..."

Logan let out a humorless chuckle. "Anywhere below Alaska is the South, darlin'. They call it 'The Lower 48' for a reason."

She rolled her eyes and stared back out the window, "You know what I mean. The _deep_ south. Louisiana. Mississippi."

He only grunted in response and another five miles passed for Rogue to work up the courage.

"Can I tell you somethin'?"

Another grunt and his eyes darted to her from the road. Hazel.

"I don't remember," she said quietly. "One day I just woke up, found I wasn't home and… made the decision then and there; Anchorage would be it."

* * *

In all actuality, that's the way she found herself on a bench at a bus station. Rogue awoke with a jolt, surprised at her surroundings.

An elderly woman was looking at her from a few feet away. "All right dear?"

"Erm…" Rogue's eyes darted about. A plain satchel was tucked under her feet and the station began to grow loud with the rumble of bus engines. She had no idea where she was. Scratch that- the Greyhound station of Albany, New York.

_Oh dear…_

"You speak English?" the little woman probed again.

"Oh! Yes, sorry- I'm fine," and she really was, except for the sore left arm. The woman nodded, even if her expression was skeptical.

Rogue passed a hand over her cheek. She felt all right, but she was unnerved as she wracked her brain as to why she was in such a place with no recollection of getting there. She dug through her pockets; nothing except chapstick and a hairbrush. Above her in the hall, a sound - a lot like the shuffling of poker chips – caused her to look up.

_Toronto via Westchester, NY – Departs 10:30pm_

_Columbus, Ohio – Departs 11:15pm_

_Anchorage, Alaska_

_via Bozeman, Montana_

_via Whistler, British Columbia – Departs 9:10pm_

The station was starting to pick up momentum as the overnight buses drew more crowds. At the bottom of her bag she found a folded stack of bills, totaling no more than two hundred. She thought hard for a moment. No phone numbers came to mind. The ID nestled inside the cash clip listed her as Rogue Blackmore, and she knew almost immediately it was an alias. She was battling the rising panic in her mind when her hair slipped into her eyes.

_What the-?_

She pulled her hair forwards, examining the white streaks. It was natural (as far as she could tell) and she didn't know how to feel about it. It held a measure of pain, as if she had seen the most frightening thing in the world; and it had left its mark.

* * *

Rogue tried to study Logan's reaction after her recount of the bus station, but he was determinately keeping his face stoic. She sighed, wondering why she thought she would have gotten anything different.

"I dunno why I'm even telling you… I guess I haven't really had anyone to tell until now," she said absently when it was clear he wasn't giving her an opinion.

Another twenty miles.

She leaned forward, trying to catch his eye. "You mad at me or somethin'?"

"No, I'm not mad at you," he said quietly.

She decided to push some buttons. "Well somethin's the matter."

Rogue watched him grit his teeth, a strange sort of growl rising up from his chest.

"I said I'm not mad at you, kid."

She pushed at the buttons again. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

Logan turned, giving her a barely restrained stare, "'Kid'? Well, 'cause you are."

"I'm 23."

The retort earned her a grunt, which she was quickly beginning to understand was his way of hedging a reasonable answer.

"I've seen you before. You were younger then. Guess it just pops into mind."

"You've seen me before? How-" Rogue straightened a little, recalling her passage through British Columbia earlier that year. "Wait. You know… I recognize you. I remember seeing you at a bar in Whistler."

Logan gave her a shrewd look; a sense of impatience boiled to the surface. "What? No. I'm talking about before."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You mean-"

"_Way_ before, kid."

Her mind froze for a moment, then the wheels of possibilities began to turn again. _So he knows me. He knows who I was. And I know him. Well, I _knew_ him._

"Stop the truck."

Logan pulled off the road with a resigned sigh, still managing to keep his scowl in place. They were near the city limits now, and the mountains of Denali National Park sat regal and distant in the sunset.

She didn't know what to ask; there were so many questions only beginning to formulate in her mind. It was why she was surprised that Logan spoke first.

His voice was low, wistful and disbelieving as he stared out at the expanse of highway still before them. "I can't believe it. You don't remember anything."

"I…I don't think I had a choice," she said carefully.

"What's your name?"

"Rogue. I told you al-"

He snorted and snapped his head around to glare at her, his voice coming out like a warning growl from a wild animal. "Because its what it says on your ID- and you believed it? Alright, how d'you think you got those streaks?"

"I don't remember," she whispered. She was becoming increasingly alarmed by his agitation, the questions being fired at her.

"So you don't know what happens when you touch people then? Or are you just wearing those gloves because it's Alaska?"

"What are you-?"

Logan jerked around in his seat, pulling up the emergency brake and leaning towards her. "Take your gloves off. Give me your hand."

"Logan, please- I don't understand!" But as quick as lightning, he pulled at the tips of her glove. It snapped off her left hand, and she watched as her body willingly let him draw her hand to his face to press her palm against his cheek.

And then Rogue waited, jaw loose and eyes bugging as if a bomb were to explode.

It was an infinite moment as they stared at each other, and then a prickling sensation began shooting down her arm.

_No no no no no no no no -_

Whatever she was doing, her instinct yelled at her not to let it happen. She gritted her teeth and tried to yank back her hand, but Logan held her in an iron – adamantium - grip.

_What?_

Rogue froze as voices and pictures flooded into her mind. A school. A beautiful redheaded woman. A man in a wheelchair. A boy that made ice. A large metal, circular room. A girl that walked through walls. A man that bended metal.

At first they were merely pictures and scraps of noise, but they suddenly took a dark turn. She saw Logan. A tank of liquid. A wall of abnormal x-rays. A parched lake. A pair of dog tags. Concrete, snow, pines, and ice.

Her mind finally rebelled against the barrage of memories and she let out a shriek. With newfound strength and intuition, she twisted her wrist out of his grasp and fumbled for the door handle. Logan's shocked expression slipped out of sight as she fell backwards out of the truck. She landed on her back, knocking the wind out of her.

The road dust clogged her nose as she fought for breath, clutching at her chest. She could hear Logan yell her name and jump out of the truck- at her side in a flash. Strong hands pulled at her arms again, lifting her up into a sitting position against the rear tire of the truck.

_No! Don't touch me-_

She wanted to warn him, but Rogue was still fighting for the air in her lungs and the dirt now in her eyes. His voice slowly drifted back to her ears as he steadied her with both hands and reassuring pressure.

"Easy now, slow breaths."

Rogue focused over her coughing, and a couple of revelations came to her at once. She was a mutant, and were her abilities… damaging? She shook her head, unable to understand what exactly she could do. Her instinct told her that it was dangerous, and the last thing she wanted now was to hurt Logan.

"Are you okay?" she asked breathlessly as her eyes swept over his cheek where her palm was seconds before. There wasn't a mark on him, and she swore her fingers felt like fire.

He gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh, but his words sounded ashamed. "Am _I _okay? Jesus, I'd forgotten what a martyr you were."

She had the distinct sensation that he was dodging her questions. "You… knew I was a mutant- what did I just do to you?"

He gave her a strange look, "You didn't hurt me, kid. Which is a first," Logan added grimly. "You have a mutation that takes strength from others through your skin. Even their powers. But it looks like the cure did something else to ya besides not workin'."

She had heard of the cure. She had seen the TV's in the bars and bus stations, constantly streaming news about the inoculation centers that were cropping up around the country. Rogue had even passed by a clinic that had a few stalwart protesters around it.

"But you didn't know that, why did you take the risk?"

He draped on arm over his knee, as if make himself comfortable, but her eyes were drawn to the sudden fist he made and the three blades that shot out from between his knuckles. Her gasp was barely audible, but she watched as he retracted the blades, the skin healing over quickly.

"I heal from anything," he murmured quietly. "Except there was once a time where if you held on for that long, I wouldn't be alive… the cure must've done something-" he passed a hand over his face. "Christ, how could you have known…"

Rogue was lost to his train of thought, focused on range of emotions taking over his features. There was shock, anger, fear, and a caring element that frankly stunned her.

"Why didn't you just tell me? Why did you wait for… all this?"

"I don't think I wanted to believe- that you were just like me. That you had forgotten everything about yourself, Marie."

She blinked, and behind her lids she saw Logan standing in front of her in the snow outside of a truck. She had the sensation that it was years ago.

"Marie?" she breathed. "Is that my real name?"

He inclined his head, "Yeah. And the last time I saw you was when you left to take the cure. About a week went by when we didn't hear from you. That's when I started looking."

She didn't know what to say. On the side of the road in the middle of Alaska, she felt oddly comforted despite all of these sudden revelations. After a month on the road, she finally had a link to her past in the unlikeliest of places. After a moment Rogue realized she was staring, for Logan suddenly looked away, uncomfortable.

"Thank you… for looking for me," she said quietly. Was there supposed to be so much tension between two old friends? She was still mystified by him.

Logan looked back at the comment, but his gaze suddenly dropped to the dog tags that had fallen out of her shirt. He reached for them slowly, examining the engraving in the fading light. "I can't believe you still have these."

She froze, remembering the dog tags she had seen in his memories. It took a moment for her mouth to finally work, and when it did she gasped out; "You're… the Wolverine?"

He didn't answer, just looking up from the tags pooled in his hand.

The dog tags were one of the elements that she had forgotten from her recollection of the Albany bus station. But their reassuring weight was a constant reminder to her during her travels that she didn't just suddenly appear on Earth without a past. She had a clue, an anchor that she would one day find again.

"Logan-" but she didn't say much else, because there was only so long that she could live without a past. Rogue launched herself forward, throwing her arms around his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tense underneath his jacket, but his arms rose up and held her back just the same.

She felt his head lean against hers, taking care to settle against her hair. She could feel his voice rumble through his shirt as he spoke, "Everybody else was gone. I couldn't lose you too."

There was something wonderful and familiar, she decided, about being around Logan. It was strange, but it was also comfort. Probably the only person she had considered as a home.

"It was just us in the beginning, wasn't it?"

He pulled her back, looking down into her eyes and smoothing back her hair, "Do you remember?"

Rogue couldn't help but give a little smile. "No, I just know."

She watched as a watery smile curled over his lips and she was crushed against his chest again. They sat for a few minutes as Rogue slowly soaked up the foundation that was Logan. Although her memories weren't returning quickly, she wondered if she was still the same person that Logan came looking for. What obligation did he have to her, or even more, she to him?

"Logan- what do we do now?"

He was still for a moment, then he stood up, pulling her with him. "Anchorage is still the destination, innit?"

"Well, yeah, but… you don't have to do this. A-a-all I needed was a ride."

He gave her a hard stare, a little disbelieving at the fact she thought he was just going to help her dig up her past and leave.

_Jesus, Marie. Give the man some credit._

But she heard no retort from Logan; "You may not remember it, but a long time ago I made a promise to take care of you."

"You did?"

He nodded. "I'm here as long as you need me."


	3. Gonna Ride The Wind

**A/N: Thank you for the reviews! They have been inspiring, constructive, and just plain flattering. Also, I know it's a bit early in the season for our duo to be fishing, but that's why they call it fiction, folks.**

* * *

Although Fairbanks was a good deal larger than Tok, Rogue had suddenly begun to realize that more complications were now added to her plate. Which was a load of waffle, in her opinion, as she had just travelled to Alaska to avoid that very sensation. What bothered her even more was that she couldn't grasp even what those complications really were.

She was aware that Logan was watching her as she twiddled with her empty coffee mug, too caught up in her own vortex of confusion to care. She had stuffed herself with a danish, and the sugar was now helping her thoughts pick up speed, even if they were a little addled. _Dammit._

"You ready to head off?"

Her head snapped up, "Ah, yeah. Lemme jus'…" she dug around in her pockets for her pathetic wad of cash.

Logan rolled his eyes, his toothpick moving from one corner of his mouth to the other. "Don't worry about it, Marie."

As much as he said it, she still couldn't get used to the name. Coming from his mouth, it almost sounded it as an endearment. She resolutely pulled out some bills and smoothed them against the table. "As nice as it is, you can't keep payin' for me like this."

"The First Mutant Bank of Chuck," he replied while slapping a credit card against the table ledge. Their waitress appeared almost simultaneously.

"What?"

Logan looked at her for a moment, and then leaned forward. "That's the beginning of a long story. One that I don't particularly want to start here."

And she could see why. Over his shoulder, two men were staring shrewdly at his back. Probably ever since the word 'mutant' slipped into the atmosphere. She only nodded and followed him out.

* * *

"How did we meet? You've told me everythin' except that."

They had pulled over on another deserted stretch of highway that ran through the base of the mountains, the last sign indicating Healy was just a few miles off. The truck was sounding a little worse for wear after driving for more than 6 hours, and Logan squinted at the deepening twilight. Rogue had followed him to the nearby river's edge, watching him piece together a fly rod until finally she decided to head off and think over the stories he had told her of her first few months at the mansion, school, facility… whatever it was.

She had now returned with even more questions, to see Logan expertly casting his line in drifting loops around his shoulders. Rogue watched for a few moments until the fly dropped in the water and he beckoned her over.

"I kinda want you to remember that for yourself," he murmured as he yanked back on the pole, growling as his line caught in the bedrock. "My version may be a little biased." She watched as he methodically cut the line, re-tied another fly and cast it in a graceful ark back out to the deep pools in the river.

She knew it was an awkward question, but Rogue couldn't hold back the thought that had suddenly formed into words. "Were we close?"

He stared out at the water for a moment, his voice coming back to her gravelly and unsure. "I think so. You weren't one of the many that tried to get me to change and… I gave you your space."

She shook her head at the vague answer. "You musta've driven me crazy," she muttered as she adjusted the firewood on her hip.

Logan glanced at her and then set down the pole, wedging it between the branches of a nearby spruce. "I'll admit that I wasn't always there for you."

She had heard his version of the events that she had forgotten, but as to which absence he was referring to, she had no idea. Rogue was curious that he was admitting to shirking a responsibility that he was suddenly taking so seriously. "Like when?"

He turned and led her back to a clearing near the truck, and began to dig out a pit, unceremoniously dumping the firewood in it. She watched him, unsure if he was berating himself internally, or was preparing to edit his story. He only glanced up at her as he pulled a box of matches out of his pocket.

"Before we met, I only remembered about 15 years of my life. Chuck – the professor – while I was at the mansion he helped me figure out where to start lookin'. You seemed like you were settling in, so I took off; went to go see if I could find out anything." Rogue watched as he tossed on some kindling and lit the wood. "When I came back, you had some popsicle boy tuggin' you around, and a walkin' banana peel as a friend."

She didn't know if she was amused or cynical of his description. "A popsicle boy?"

He smirked. "Musta' not left much of an impression."

"I forgot _everything_, Logan," she retorted grimly. "And what's a 'walkin' banana peel'?"

"Loud little girl. Wore lots of yellow."

She crossed her arms and stepped over to his side. It seemed that proximity and pissing him off were the only ways to get a direct answer out of him. "So… what? You were jealous?"

"Ain't like that, kid," he growled.

A dark look crossed over her features as the flames of the fire grew. "I don't see why it bothered you then. If I was happy and had friends, why-"

"I meant me coming _back_. I think after that you woulda been better off without me."

"Why on earth would you think that?" Rogue asked softly.

"Well, that's another long story." He brushed his hands on his jeans as he stood up, looking to head back to the riverside. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving."

"Logan," she said firmly. Rogue waited until he turned back at her with a wary look. "Whatever the story is, I don't think I would ever not want you to be around."

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded with a strange sort of half-shrug. "Guess I didn't know you as well as I thought."

Rogue quelled a smile tugging at her lips.

Logan gestured to the water's edge, "Cummon. Let's see how your flaying skills are."

* * *

The bleary grey morning she awoke to wasn't very inviting. Rogue barely restrained a groan as she sat up, still fully encased in her sleeping bag. Her breath streaming out in front of her in a lazy cloud.

"She rises," came Logan's carrying voice from the nearby campfire. It looked as if he hadn't moved from last night when she went to bed. Her eyes opened a little wider as she caught the whiff of coffee brewing.

Rogue mumbled a good morning and tugged at the folds of the sleeping bag, stumbling out of the truck bed and onto the soft dirt. She would have normally made a beeline to the suddenly wonderful man that thought to make coffee, but she felt three different shades of disgusting and headed towards the river to clean up.

It was when she was sitting on gravely shore of the river and scrubbing her face that she finally realized where she was. In the middle of nowhere. In Alaska. Smelling of woodsmoke and cooked fish. Washing her face with glacial water. Her past finally catching up with her. She still had yet to see wildlife, but Logan promised that would soon change. Rogue grinned, suddenly content with the direction that her choices had taken her.

When she walked back, she found Logan looking through the small pile of books she had bothered to bring along. He turned to her, his eyebrow hiked higher with each title as he held each book aloft, "'The Worst Case Scenario Handbook'? '500 Elements of Wilderness Survival'?"

Rogue smiled and fondly thumbed through some of the pages. "Yep. I know how to kick down a door, escape from a sinking car, avoid poison oak, bait fish… wolverine encounters aren't covered in this, though…" she said, wondering if he had a sense of humor.

Apparently not, because she was met by a nonplussed expression.

"Ah come on Logan, that was funny!" she chided with a smile.

"Sure whatever, kid," came the grunt.

Her attitude took a complete 180 as she snatched the books out of his hands, stepping up to him with a leveled glare. Inwardly, she was surprised at how familiar her hard tone was, like she had somehow heard it before from Logan. "All right, ah'm only gonna say this once. _Enough_ with the 'kid' shit. It's driving me crazy."

Logan blinked and a smile slowly curled over his lips, raising his hands as if to ward off her fury. "All righ', Marie. All you had to do was ask."

She dropped her tense shoulders. She knew she was cranky that morning, especially after her bum had undoubtedly developed a bruise from being crammed against the trucks' wheel well for most of the night. She avoided his gaze and studied his boots; "Sorry."

A coffee cup made its appearance under her nose and she looked up. "No problem, darlin'." He frowned and caught her eye, "That one's okay, isn't it?"

She wrapped her hands around the mug, "I guess."

"Good… well, finish that and grab some food. I want to get off this godforsaken highway by the end of today."

"You want me to drive?" she asked as she watched him douse the campfire and pull on his worn jacket. "That way you can tell me a few more stories."

He turned back, surprising her with a small smile. "Sure thing, Marie."


	4. Trouble With the Boy From Town

_Rogue tore down the hallway, her ears still ringing with Angela's siren scream. Students were running everywhere, frantically searching for those who actually knew where the hidden passageways were. She nearly collided with Iceman and Pyro, the three of them making a sudden turn into the main foyer of the mansion. She didn't know just exactly where she thought they would be able to get out, because the mooks were swarming all over the perimeter. Just briefly she questioned why she was wearing such revealing pajamas. Really, who runs around in a dark green silk nightgown?_

"I get the picture," she said dryly as she glanced over at Logan.

He had his back partially up against the door, his elbow hanging out the window as he fiddled with his cigar. One leg was propped up over the other, his arm running across the back of the cab seat until his fingertips barely reached the edge of her shoulders. It was distracting.

He smirked. "I'm just trying to be thorough. Anyway, you must've had some fantastic idea in your head to help me an' somehow convince Iceman to help you…"

_She watched as Logan pounded against the wall of ice separating him and Stryker. _

"An' Stryker, he's the guy you went looking for at Alkalai Lake?"

A dark look clouded his features. "I didn't know it then. But he said some stuff that only me and the Professor knew."

Rogue nodded. Logan told of their escape and how they had taken off to Bobby's family home in Boston. As his narrative filled the truck, she let images come to her mind, not really knowing what to make of them. Some of them were from her perspective, when Logan wasn't in the immediate picture.

Their path led them down to southcentral Alaska, and simultaneously to their rescue of the Professor and the sacrifice of Jean Grey. They now sat in the shadow of another gas station, the only indication that a town was nearby were the rooftops that peeked through the tree line. The trash from their lunch scattered at their feet as they sat side by side.

The truth was Rogue was uncertain how to feel. Sadness at losing a valuable X-man, a strained sort of pity for Logan who was doing his best to glaze over the aspect of unrequited love, and empathy for him as well as he literally had to fight to understand his past.

"Ah can see why you were angry at first- for me not remembering," she murmured quietly.

His brow furrowed, but he didn't look up at her. "Whaddaya mean?"

Her hands gestured uselessly for a moment as she tried to pull out the words. "Well, we've been through so much. We've had people die for us. We've had people love us. It… makes me feel terrible that ah can't remember that."

Logan didn't respond, the usual frown still in place. Rogue bit her lip, suddenly leaning forward to gather up their trash. She blinked back the cloudiness in her vision as she sprang up, and tossed over her shoulder:

"Ahm gonna take a walk, stretch mah legs, you know."

_Chicken shit,_ she thought morosely as she made a beeline for the trees. What right did she have for getting choked up about people she couldn't remember? Her empathy seemed clouded to her now, as if it couldn't connect with her seemingly resurfacing memories without Logan's narrative. She wanted so desperately to remember, and yet she needed him to do just that.

_I'm here as long as you need me._

Rogue shook her head; she did not need to be hearing such an enticing voice. Except that traces of Logan were now inside her mind, old and new. They became part of her instinct and if she wasn't careful, she could confuse her consciousness with his whispering two-cents.

She trudged on through the brush until she reached a logging road, abandoned and the scrub crowding the edges. The mosquitoes were out in full force despite the spring weather, but Rogue's skin acted as a natural repellant. She was just thinking of heading back when her ears perked up.

She stopped and watched as a young elk stepped tentatively onto the road a minute later, contentedly picking about the grass. Rogue smiled. Not what she had expected to see first, she had been hoping for a moose or an eagle, but a reindeer would suffice.

The elk suddenly tensed, turning and giving her full attention. Rogue winced; she'd made a noise, or it had caught her scent. Whatever the case, the animal sprinted off down the road and then finally darted into the trees.

She sighed, turning back- that is until she nearly did a face-plant into Logan's shoulder.

Her heart jumped in her throat and she jerked back as he simultaneously reached out to steady her. She watched as his nostrils flared, his amused expression suddenly growing concerned.

"M'rie. It's alright."

She finally took a breath and noticed the reassuring weight of his hand curling around her arm. "I know- you just scared me. I didn't even hear you," she said breathlessly.

He nodded in the direction of the elk. "Sorry, force of habit."

She only nodded, looking up at him as she allowed her pulse to slow.

Logan looked uncomfortable, and she watched him as he scratched the back of his neck, keeping his eyes on the streaks in her hair. "Look ah- just for the record, back there...I wasn't mad at you. I don't think I could ever be mad at ya, Marie. Don't want you to think that."

She was secretly relieved. Even though she figured he wasn't angry, his facial expressions sometimes were hard statements to convince otherwise. She nodded, "Okay."

"Okay?" he was caught off guard. "Really? That's it?" The dubious look he was giving nearly made her crack a smile.

Rogue cocked her head, "Well yeah, what else would it be? I know you don't say much, but you aren't saying stuff to placate me. I just figured out quickly that what you say is exactly as it seems."

He seemed lost for words at the moment until: "Well…that's good."

A thought occurred to her when she still felt his hand on her arm. "Um… since you're not mad at me. I wanted to try something."

The eyebrow rose. His heightened senses told her picked up the catch. "And what's that?" he said slowly.

Rogue carefully worded the suggestion that she had been pondering for the last day. "Before- when I touched you, you said it didn't hurt you. But I also saw pictures, faces of the people you've been telling me about today-" a frustrated sigh came from him and she barreled on, determined to convince him. "I think that if I saw more it would help me remember."

"I don't see how it would help you, they're my memories, not yours."

She had thought about that hitch, of course. But the truth was that she was looking for a trigger for her brain to recognize. If it was true that they had experienced everything together from the beginning, then he really was the only portal to her past. She just needed to find the valve that would release the dam.

"Please, Logan."

Rogue watched as something in his eyes broke with the request, but the stoic mask still held firm. "Ten seconds, that's all your gettin'."

"Thirty."

"Don't push it, Marie."

She sighed and started to pull off her gloves, but his hands stilled her. "Don't bother."

Looking up, she didn't even have a moment to flinch away as his hand cupped the back of her head, the other brushing lightly over her nose as it finally settled on her cheek. Their eyes connected and Rogue was distracted by his intense gaze. She let her eyes slip close as she concentrated.

It was strange now that she was prepared. It was as if glue was drying between them- their skin adhering to each other, and through the connection Rogue saw the strain of images that she had seen in his first touch. They filtered through, shuffling about like a deck of cards. Popping into view and falling back.

Bad one-liners that batted in between him and Scott. Long gazes between him and Jean. Countless times he had looked in the mansion fridge, only to be met with no beer. Danger room sessions as he closely watched Rogue's developing skill, and the ridiculous black leather suits that they all wore. Long miles on the road as he searched endlessly, his mind burning with thoughts of returning to the mansion, but for varied reasons.

Her heart rate jumped as she focused on the backdrop to the memories that flickered in front of her. It was too intense. Too dark. Too violent. Too desolate. It was Logan's first recollection of being the Wolverine.

Rogue tried to focus back on the other memories, because a strong presence began to make itself known, something that she highly anticipated. She was right-

But then Logan tore his hand away. The images broke and her eyes flew open. She was immediately distressed and disoriented- she had been so close- so _close_- she had felt it creeping up on her consciousness, like a friend about to tap her on the shoulder.

But then she went and did the one thing that would convince Logan otherwise about touching her- for the rest of goddamn eternity.

She vomited.

* * *

One thing she noticed, Logan wasn't too graceful when he was worried.

Vomiting had made her lightheaded, which made her dizzy, which made her knees buckle. Which seemed to make Logan think the worst.

"Marie!"

She winced and brought a cool palm to her forehead. "Don't shout."

Rogue had realized she was on the ground only when he had kneeled down next to her, only to be scooped up and heading back towards the main road. Over the growls, she could discern, "Goddammit, I knew this was a fuckin' stupid idea."

She bounced around in his grasp as he covered the terrain quickly, her head and the new memories seeming to rattle loose. "Logan _stop_, put me down."

"Like hell," came the growl.

"Ahm fine, jus' put me down. You're makin' me sick." Rogue covered her eyes to keep from focusing on the trees flashing past. Of course he ignored her, but it was in mere seconds that they had reached the truck again and Logan had opened the passenger door and perched her on the seat.

She felt the gentle pat on her cheek as Logan tried to get her to focus on him. "Open your eyes, you gonna be sick again?"

Her eyes snapped open and she barked at him, "No! Now that I'm finally still. Thank God-"

Logan had made a sudden movement and rather than flinching, she watched as he kneed a shallow dent into the side of the truck bed.

"Ok, now you're mad at me."

He simultaneously ignored her and cut over her with an angry wave of his hand, bracing his other arm against the doorframe, plainly violating her personal space as he leaned in to prove his point with a growl; "We're going to do this the old fashioned way. You remember when your brain wants to remember, _got it?"_

She tried the same tactic; "I was so close, you can't just leave it like this-"

"_I just did!"_ he roared in her face. She shrank back against the seat, but did not break eye contact. Something must have slipped through in her gaze, for Logan suddenly seemed to be struggling with his self-control. Rogue watched as he adjusted his stance a few times, huffing in agitation, passing a hand over his face.

"Marie," he stared at her hands. One glove on, one glove off. "I'm not a doctor. I wouldn't know the first thing about helping you with this. But I'm not gonna hurt you just so you can remember your memories sooner than later."

Of course she felt the tears welling up. Even if they were ridiculous, she couldn't help but think that it was unfair that she had found the solution, and then told that she was deemed unfit to shoulder the consequences. That very thought suddenly made her mad as hell. He may have vowed not to say it anymore, but the action screamed '_kid'_ in her face.

"_Move."_

"What-" but Logan let her push him aside as she squeezed out of the cab. He watched as she angrily grabbed her duffle from the back of the truck and stuffed her sleeping bag back into it. "What are you doing?"

"What's it _look _like?" she nearly shouted as she finally felt the tears spill over as she focused on her task. "If you won't help me, then there's no reason for me to stick around, is there?"

He stalked around the truck and stood hovering over her from behind. "Marie, you're just upset-"

She slung her duffel over her shoulder and wheeled around at him. "_Damn right ah am!_ You said you'd be there for me as long as I needed ya. Well I need to remember! Otherwise, what are you to me then? Someone ah don't even know, no matter how much you try to convince me."

Rogue had certainly said enough hateful things to hope some distance was wedged between them, but as she turned and stalked down the road she felt Logan's eyes boring into the back of her head and his tobacco-sweetened breath on her neck.

His words were quick and sharp and directly in her ear, "You wanna tell yourself that you don't know me, well that's a crock if I've ever heard one. You know me better than anyone, even if you don't remember it. Hell- you don't _need_ to remember it."

Rogue's instincts were pulling all sorts of different ways that ultimately made her heart wrench. Her pride and conscience were yelling over her instinct as well as her heart.

_Stick with your guns. _

_Pull your head out of your ass, he's just looking out for you._

_You're not a kid! You got through this before him, you can do it again._

_You were so close, maybe he's afraid of what you'll remember._

She didn't like what any of them were saying. Which is probably why she didn't believe a word that she said:

"I don't need you, Logan."

"You're lying," and the same hand as before clamped down around her arm, stopping her from tearing off down the side of the highway. "I can smell it on you."

"Let go of me, _Wolverine_," she spat when she whirled to face him.

His expression was fierce and close to her face, but he was still able to pull out a mocking smile, "What are you gonna do? Hit me, _kid?"_

Rogue felt like the inner, most primal part of her anger took over and her lips pulled back in a snarl. Her foot shot out and clipped the inside of his knee, making it twist under his weight and collapse. She heard him grunt, but she was watching herself from outside of her body, seeing this warrior with graceful movements take over and elbow Logan in the chest, her arm shooting up and cracking a blow across his cheekbone. His hand finally fell away.

She froze then, hearing the sound and feeling the pain in her hand. Logan was still on one knee, shaking his head slowly like a dog with water in its ears.

Rogue felt a dawning horror as she came back to herself, the blinding anger fading away and realization of what she had done to the one person that had tried to help her. The shame was too much to bear and she spun around, her face crumpling as she snatched up her bag and darted down the road.

* * *

It didn't take him long to get his eyes focused again. It was more for show as Rogue stared down at him with horror, dealing with the realization that she was a skilled X-man. At least he could take comfort in knowing that his training had rubbed off onto her psyche. But one thing was clear; she needed some time to figure things out for herself.

This time, he let her run.


	5. Grew Up Tall, Grew Up Thin

Rogue battled with herself as her sprint slowed to a run, then to an aggravated march as she turned down a commercial road, taking another turn to lose herself on a street lined with low-income houses.

She cursed herself a few different ways and again for being so confused on how she felt. She had let herself be egged on by Logan and let herself fall into the most primitive form of anger. And then what did she do? She clocked him; the only person who had actually cared to help her, when she didn't even know she needed to be helped.

She jammed her hands into her coat pockets and felt an odd lump. Pulling it out, she stared at a wad of cash wrapped in a rubber band.

Of course he had thought to put it there.

"Gawd _dammit!"_ she yelled at the paper in her hand, feeling even more ashamed than before. Her fist clenched in a spasm of anger, quashing back the ridiculous urge to throw the cash on the ground and stomp on it.

So he had known that she would run- had made sure if she didn't need him, then at least she would be well off. _Jesus, there's like… two thousand in this_, she thought while looking at the thickness of the clip.

The question in her mind now was choosing between swallowing her pride and going back to apologize to Logan… or simply sticking with the plan.

She was close now. They had stopped in Wasilla and she could see the terrain flattening out around the base of the mountains; the sea was close. On the map engraved in her memory, Anchorage was literally around the bend.

At the prospect of finally reaching her destination, she realized that she had wanted to share the sight with Logan. Unbeknownst to her, Rogue's conscience had rebelled and favored his company; his strange and stalwart devotion towards her. She had gotten comfortable with the prospect of him being there.

It flashed upon her how strangely familiar the sensation was. That she had felt the exact same thing before.

In the snow, in Canada, on the exact same route.

_What kind of name is Rogue?_

_I dunno. What kind of name is Wolverine?_

Marie sucked in a gasp as her eyes became glassy. She froze in her steps as the memory came back.

_You gonna let this man walk away with your money?_

_Want somethin' else honey? Or are you stickin' with water?_

_Get out of my bar, freak._

_I saved your life._

"Kid, you alright?"

Rogue jumped in her skin. For a wild moment, she thought she was back in his old camper, watching Logan heal from a brutal wound right before her eyes. She snapped her head to the side, half expecting to see him. Instead, she saw a an elderly man with graying hair standing next to his mailbox, blinking owlishly from behind thick glasses, his dog idly sniffing around the barren planters that lined the scraggly lawn.

"Fine, thanks," she breathed, and turned back the way she came.

* * *

At first, she wasn't sure if she had gone back to the same gas station.

Rogue stared at the bench where they had shared lunch. Logan's truck was nowhere in sight, yet she could almost see its rust coating the dirt tracks on the road. She bit her lip.

_You deserve this, you know,_ her thoughts spoke back to her. They weren't the most appraising things, but she looked over the footsteps in the dirt and Logan's voice spoke in her ear as clear as the day:

_You know me better than anybody. And I know you don't need me complicating your mind right now. You find out who you are. And when you need me, I'll be there, darlin'._

Rogue took a shaky breath. She didn't want to face this alone, like the many months before when she found herself on the road. It was a familiar and desolate feeling, reminding her of the blind panic and hopelessness that she had felt when waking up for the first time at the bus station in New York.

She told herself not to take too much comfort in his voice, but once again turned towards the highway and exercised her thumb.

God, she needed a beer.

* * *

It was late afternoon when Rogue watched a tired old BMW roll up to the gas station, only to eject a young woman who popped the hood. She watched with mild interest, leaning against the wall of the main market after her past few hours of fruitless hitching.

The woman was dressed like a city girl, yet strangely utilitarian. Rogue had already coveted the leather boots her jeans were tucked into, and the long brown hair that fell out from her high ponytail as she checked the coolant of the car. She even gave Rogue a pleasant smile as she passed her to pay for the gas. It was on her way back to the car from the bathroom that she gave Rogue another once over.

She stopped to lean against the passenger door and caught Rogue's eye by pulling out a lollipop and popping it in her mouth, raising her eyebrows, "You waiting for someone, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not anymore." Rogue frowned when she heard how cryptic it was.

The woman looked confused as well, but nonetheless grinned. "Well missy, if Anchorage is your destination… consider me your destiny."

It was hardly an hour later that Rogue leaned outside of the car window to take in the scenery of downtown Anchorage. Despite the springtime, the sun was still deceptively high in the sky for the evening air. Silt lined the streets and sidewalks, and she listened to her driver's commentary over the radio announcements.

Her ride dropped her off, unceremoniously on the corner of the town square. Rogue was even given directions to a decent pub, and a finger pointing towards the hostel. It was only when she had settled into a seat hugging the bar that she allowed herself to realize that she had reached her destination. The problem was that she didn't feel it was the end. There was another tug, pulling at her conscious as she recounted her earlier conversation.

"_You caught me on the end of a trip from Healey. Know it?"_

"_Yeah, I stopped there myself."_

"_Not much to it, but my boyfriend is workin' there for the summer. With Alaska, good money is always in the most remote place."_

_Rogue pulled herself back into the cab and looked briefly at the woman. "What about here?"_

_She shrugged, massaging her neck as they sat in traffic. "The jobs are there, but people who come to Alaska for the summer are just looking to experience it," she said with a knowing glance at Rogue. "This isn't the place. You go to the Kenai for that, but just for a month," she added as an afterthought. "That is, if you like living in the middle of nowhere and risk being eaten by bears on your way home from working at the fisheries."_

To Marie, it sounded perfect. Admittedly the more she thought about it, the more she came to realize it was how she wanted to live. She didn't come all this way just to live in a city.

A dark beer was set in front of her, its enticing aromas making her shake her head. One thing was for sure, she would always want someone to share the trip with her, and it was with a final acknowledgment that she would always want it to be Logan.

The only question was figuring out when. For now, Rogue basked in the glory of taking off her coat, and not receiving any strange looks from her long gloves.


	6. When She Started Her Skid

_Paff! Bamf! Snikt!_

Rogue frowned as she tried to concentrate on the memories, but the only part of her past that was clear were odd sounds that had even odder spellings. Well, that and the continuous replay of the only former memory that she knew was hers; the first time she met Logan.

Her work was fairly brainless, mainly instinct, which she figured had been courtesy of absorbing Logan's elegant sparseness with a blade. Day by day, she whittled away at enormous fish brought in from the charter; the clients still green from the waves and always holding a surprised look on their faces while they watched the girl from the front desk fillet their fish like a sourdough.

She had even picked up some Russian, but the majority of what she had learned wasn't appropriate for clientele. It had started out as an experiment, and one that Rogue had now come to realize was completely reckless.

When she first set sight upon the Homer Spit on a postcard in Anchorage, Rogue had fallen in love. A little sliver of land that was no more than a permanent sandbar jutting off from the main city, it was merely a cache for fishing charters and a storage sluice for boats and float planes. Still, she had left for it the very next day, and went with her own instinct: blending in.

She had bought live crabs out of the back of a fisherman's truck. She had asked around for the local bar, 'None of the tourist shit, please' while slinging her sack of crabs over her shoulder.

Rogue had expected a loud, cramped bar of fisherman. Instead she walked into a sinking trappers cabin that felt like it was about to be swallowed by the earth; a group of tourists proclaiming their catch over glowing pints of MGD. Her nose wrinkled.

Crowding the darker portion of the bar was a small group of men; older and wiser. The accent that curved their voices somehow over English words. Tell-tale signs of the sea were on them, she thought. Hair the color of driftwood. Eyes like clouds and shirts stiff with the salt air.

Rogue was careful. Brushing her hand along others as she took the offered light for her cigarette, holding on longer from an introductory handshake. The night wore on, more drinks, she tested her Russian, they suggested how best to cook her crab, a nod of approval as she brazenly performed their accent.

Rogue: 1, mutated mutation: 0.

She went to the charters the next day, looking for employment. Her resume was a sloppily woven sweater and the aroma of fish and sea air that clung to her skin from camping on the rocky beach. But the clincher was the accent, that and she had also bought her own knives.

The love affair hadn't worn off yet and she had gotten the job.

It was over a month since her arrival and Rogue was forced to admit that she was in a mental rut. The days were getting progressively longer and warmer, the business having her cut fish up to six hours a day.

It was what she wanted right? Then why was she annoyed at the brilliant sunsets? Wistful as she explored town on her days off? Not indulging in fudge from the tourist shops and beer on the beach?

She felt satisfied, just not content.

What more could she want?

She hung her head against the wind, white strands of hair sticking to her temples as the ready answer came back to her. This time she didn't feel shameful about it. Just that it was familiar.

Rogue shook her head at the scarred table, her knife sticky with scales and the slime only found on fish. As the familiar rumble of a truck pulled up to the dock, she thought of how sound could transcend over time. It had been weeks and she had barely spent two days with him in her present memory, yet Rogue knew she could pick out the sound of the muffler and the crunch of his boots on the asphalt from any point in her life.

_You find out who you are. And when you need me, I'll be there, darlin'._


	7. Stars Still Fall on Alabama

**A/N: For the Roganites, I'm afraid there are only hints in here. As primal as Logan's character is, and as much as we all remember Rouge's implied and unrequited love, that doesn't really exist here. She forgot, remember? There is such a thing as best friends on a sub-platonic level. While there may have been too many things in the way before, consider this the second chance for the both of them to get it right.**

**Also, I'm a little foggy on timelines between each film so if you see a mistake, please let me know.**

* * *

It took him a moment to really listen to what his nose was telling him. At first he chalked it up to wishful thinking, wondering how long he could stand such a small town, getting the same covert glances from the same older women in the same corner stores. Yet over the stench of the sea and fish, the scent of Marie did always come clearly to him.

Logan had pondered over it a few times as to what her scent was. Under the mask of her shampoo and soap, a spice came through. Nutmeg or cinnamon… clove? Something indeterminable that he usually tasted in his cigars. Something that he had never really noticed in either case.

He could sense changes and emotions through a person's scent. It had taken awhile, but eventually he was able to pick out the nuances of a person's smell. Tense, angry, dying, sleepy, aroused.

It was a different smell that he picked up from Marie. It was something that he hadn't had to work to place in a long time. Just like her spice.

It was the smell of waiting. _If waiting had a smell,_ he reasoned. But he couldn't go to her just then, in fact he doubted that Marie even knew how she felt… about waiting.

Logan rolled his eyes at his logic. A great deal of women he had met through his years had the difficulty of knowing what they truly wanted. It was only in the last few days that he realized that Marie wasn't anything like them. Not even Jean. Jean didn't know what she wanted. It took her three years and the Phoenix to come out and decide for her. It had left him teetering at the brink of rage, bringing doubt and destruction on himself. Logan gripped the steering wheel until the tips of the claws poked out, threatening the windshield.

Marie had upped and taken the cure. He had doubts with Jean turned into doubts about Marie's reasoning for taking the option, with her martyr tendencies and his less than favorable view of Bobby Drake. Even with her past completely wiped away, she had done what she wanted. She had even kicked him to the curb, literally. Still, she had taken the chance, on him as well.

Logan was surprised at how he was so easily drawn back in again. The simplicity of Marie's company was something that he missed, and fogged over by the years and drama of working for Xavier. He was beginning to feel guilty for smoking a cigar that tasted like the smell of Marie. Because of the implications it brought up-

"Yes, because of the implications," he muttered in the empty cab of the truck. He watched Marie duck into her tent sheltered beneath the decking of the charter house. It was late. 11 pm and the sun still had a good hour left in the sky.

He'd let her think it over, he reasoned. If he knew Marie, then he knew she wouldn't take long in figuring it out.

For now he relaxed and leaned back in his seat, watching her outline; propped up and reading a book in the fading light.

* * *

It was the following afternoon that he prowled the nearby streams again, itching to pick a fight with any big animal that poked a curious snout towards his catch. _What the hell was he doing anyway?_ he wondered, looking down at the salmon on the bank. He couldn't be bothered with smoking it. Most likely a tourist hub could do that for him while he got a beer and waited for Marie to get off work.

Which was exactly what he was doing now, a quarter to five. Sitting in his truck, waiting for Marie to come to her senses.

Looking back on it, he considered it kismet for it to happen as he sat idly by and watched. She was on the main deck, her face to the afternoon sun that overlooked the oncoming ocean. He smiled grimly as he watched her deftly moving the blade in his style, bits of fish skin blinking in the light.

Logan supposed she was a little worse for wear in appearance. From the distance, he could see that she had lost the weight she had regained from the comfortable years in Westchester. Her mind probably wasn't as crowded as before the cure, but that wasn't a subject that they had gotten to touch on.

In fact, he realized he had spent most of the time fulfilling her wish of recounting the past she couldn't remember. It seemed like the wrong way to go about things. But whatever he was thinking of- he had forgotten already when Marie's spice filled the air and took all of his attention.

He watched. She sighed, canting her head down as she regarded the butcher's table. Her hair pulled back in the familiar knots that he had seen so often in the Danger Room sessions. The white stripe of experience that was inextricably connected to him. She was already marked.

Logan was already opening the truck door, his boots hitting the pavement. He watched as she turned her gaze to his approaching footsteps. She was careful at hiding her expression, but he would never tell her that her scent gave her away. It turned from waiting… to content.


	8. Life and the Death of a Red Dirt Girl

**A/N: Thank you for those who have given their thoughts and critiques on this fic. I loved writing it, and can't wait for when another inspiration concerning these two will hit again.**

**Lyrics and references to _Red Dirt Girl_ belong to Emmylou Harris.**

* * *

She could always tell when a prospective customer came down the boardwalk. They had a hesitant step, wondering if they should follow the worn wood path to the office, or go directly to her next to the boats as she bowed her head against the afternoon sun.

Logan was different. He walked in a straight line towards her, a steady glower that held her gaze. It was a familiar sight from the day that they had spent together. It had only gotten a little fuzzy over time.

She watched him as he came right up to her, the glower changing into a half-smile. The simple gruff voice that had spoken in her mind since the day she left, now came out with the same endearing greeting; "Marie."

"Hello," she returned, scrubbing her forearm over her neck. She looked down at the six-pack in his hands. "Are those for me?"

He inclined his head, and Marie felt self-conscious under his gaze as his eyes swept over her figure. "I thought we could have a talk."

She nodded, cleaning up the chopping block that she had been working on for the last month. Logan didn't move. He didn't flinch either when she suddenly blurted, "I'm not going back."

"I wasn't planning on askin' you to go back."

Marie nodded as she leaned over and dug through a cooler, pulling out a netbag full of oysters. The aroma of shellfish hit Logan with a new force as the contents made a sandy, grinding sound.

It was a strange sensation now that he was in her company again. It felt like a paradox between the instincts and consciousness that she had gained from him. Still, she figured that there was no better Logan than the real Logan.

She led him off a back stairwell that wound down to the rocky beach and her tent that sat under the eaves of the charterhouse. She gestured for him to take a seat at a sunwashed harbor spool that served as her table.

"I just wanted to be clear. From your stories… the school, it sounded nice." Rogue dumped the sack on the table, as Logan popped the tops off of their beers. Her voice sounded quiet to her against the enormous backdrop of the ocean. "Comfortable. I just thought if I went back that I would get stuck there. Since I've been travelling, I've figured there's too much of this world to see."

Logan nodded, handing over the drink. "Not a lot of the world wants to see a mutant though. You understand that well enough?"

Rogue shrugged her shoulder. Her time on the spit went by easy enough. She had no trouble garnering a job. In fact, she was almost certain that her employer knew she was a mutant. "We can hide ourselves well enough if we have to."

"We?"

She froze for a moment, gripping the sodden label on the beer. Wasn't that why he came back? He wasn't just paying her a visit was he? Possibly. But also, this was Logan. He didn't like unclear meanings. Neither did she.

"I'd like you to be there with me. Only if you want."

He was silent for a moment, thinking it over. Rogue mistook it for hesitation. "Ahm sorry for hittin' ya before. But in all fairness, ya did push me to."

Logan took a long pull of his beer. "Nothin' to worry about. I earned it."

She sighed as she realized his vague answers were back. "You didn't answer me."

"You need me to tell you again?"

Rogue gave him a questioning look. In response, Logan made a show of reaching into the bag of oysters and pulling out a pocketknife. With the same deft efficiency, he pried open the shell on the first try and handed it over to her. She made no move to eat it.

Logan stared back at her, "I came back 'cause of you Marie. Plain and simple. I don't need anything in my life except for those that need me back." He turned back to the table and began working on his own oyster. "Just a fancy way of saying that I keep my promises," he murmured. "Just lucky that you want me there, otherwise I'd be following ten steps behind."

Rogue bit her lip, concentrating. Then very slowly, she reached over and grasped his hand, effectively stilling his movements.

It was a priceless moment as she watched Logan stare at her hand, still tacky from handling the fish, watching it move to twist around his palm and into the nooks of his fingers. There was no pull. No swirling vortex of powers being transferred and mixed.

"You did it," he said, finally looking up at her.

Her face split into a glorious smile with the words; "Yeah."

Rogue battled with the nervousness and excitement of her achievement, watching as Logan lifted her hands, kissing the back and rubbing his thumb over her skin. "I always knew you could, darlin'."

"Did you really?" It wasn't sarcasm, just a simple question to remind him that she still hadn't regained her memories. It was true what he had said all those weeks earlier; they naturally knew each other. So Logan just canted his head in reply, and Rogue felt for once that her life was going in a vague direction of peace.

"To Marie," he announced over the gentle sound of the surf, lifting his oysters to hers.

_To Logan_, she thought as she raised her shell. _The man that has proven he will always be there._

She grimaced as the fish and salt slid down her throat. "We need a lemon."

"Yeah we do," he growled contentedly.

With a large amount of willpower, Rogue detached herself from Logan's grasp, jumping up from the table and ducking into her tent. She stole a glance at his profile as she dug through her groceries, and emerged holding out a lemon for his pocketknife.

"After this, I wanna show you something," he said as he cut into the rind, the acidic juice spraying the wooden table.

Rogue only nodded as she pried open a few more shells, and watched Logan pop open another pair of beers. That was another thing that she mentally praised him on; no rush. A life like this, and people like them… no rush was needed.

* * *

Logan eased the pickup into one of the few side streets of the spit. They were near the mainland and Rogue looked over the calmer waters of a makeshift lagoon. Private aircraft dotted the docks. Logan circled the cab and came up next to her, cocking his arm out. She quelled a laugh as she took his arm, the two of them heading down the narrow boardwalk.

They said nothing until Logan stopped in front of a slightly rusting Cessna. It's yellow and green stripes running the length of the white cab, bobbing lazily in the water.

"I didn't know you could fly," she said, impressed as she looked up at Logan's smug smile.

His eyes seemed to glaze over as she saw him fantasize about the possibilities of the airplane. "Didn't know either, until I took 'er for a run. I bought her at auction."

"I like it," she mused, thinking the aircraft was distinctly Logan. Like a motorcycle; it was open, free, and reckless. Anything else would be boring.

Rogue walked along the dock, examining the length of the craft. She stood staring at it for a few moments, seeing the similarities between her and Logan. "Do you think it will be terrible if I don't remember my memories?"

She watched as Logan stood pensive for a moment. It must have been getting late, for the sun was now low on the waterline, hiding most of his face now in stark shadow. "I never remembered everything about my own past, but I think it's all about how you look at it.

"I think I spent so much time looking, I didn't really think about why I was looking. I didn't want anything beyond instinct, but still I was lookin' for what made me." He shrugged in his leather, absently pulling out a cigar casing and lighting one up. "It took me awhile to realize the past doesn't make you what you are. Especially with us. Only thing that matters is here and now."

His eyes settled on his new possession again, raising a hand to grip the left wing. Logan gave a dangerous smile around the fat cigar pinched in his teeth. "Also, it's a helluva ticket out of anywhere."

Rogue grinned and stepped back to his side again, "Sure. But here is good for now, isn't it?"

"Sure darlin'."

* * *

_Me and my best friend Lillian  
And her blue tick hound dog Gideon,  
Sittin' on the front porch cooling in the shade  
Singin' every song the radio played  
Waitin' for the Alabama sun to go down  
Two red dirt girls in a red dirt town  
Me and Lillian  
Just across the line and a little southeast of Meridian._

_She loved her brother I remember back when  
He was fixin' up a '49 Indian  
He told her 'Little sister, gonna ride the wind  
Up around the moon and back again'  
He never got farther than Vietnam,  
I was standin' there with her when the telegram come  
For Lillian.  
Now he's lyin' somewhere about a million miles from Meridian._

_She said there's not much hope for a red dirt girl  
Somewhere out there is a great big world  
That's where I'm bound  
And the stars might fall on Alabama  
But one of these days I'm gonna swing  
My hammer down  
Away from this red dirt town  
I'm gonna make a joyful sound_

_She grew up tall and she grew up thin  
Buried that old dog Gideon  
By a crepe myrtle bush in the back of the yard,  
Her daddy turned mean and her mama leaned hard  
Got in trouble with a boy from town  
Figured that she might as well settle down  
So she dug right in  
Across a red dirt line just a little south east from Meridian._

_She tried hard to love him but it never did take  
It was just another way for the heart to break  
So she dug right in.  
But one thing they don't tell you about the blues  
When you got em  
You keep on falling cause there ain't no bottom  
There ain't no end  
At least not for Lillian_

_Nobody knows when she started her skid,  
She was only 27 and she had five kids.  
Coulda' been the whiskey,  
Coulda' been the pills,  
Coulda' been the dream she was trying to kill.  
But there won't be a mention in the news of the world  
About the life and the death of a red dirt girl  
Named Lillian_

_Who never got any farther across the line than Meridian.  
Now the stars still fall on Alabama  
The night she finally laid  
That hammer down  
Without a sound  
In the red dirt ground_

- Red Dirt Girl, Emmylou Harris


End file.
